The Beauty of the World
by Lee Savage
Summary: A short reprieve. That's it. That's why he seeks comfort in the arms of someone who will only condemn him.


At a tea shop far more modest than what she's accustomed to, Asami meets someone. This Water Tribe man introduces himself as an admirer of her father's work, and he apologizes for her loss. He never thought Hiroshi Sato would do something so vile. The weak tea sits bitter and cold on her tongue, but she won't lose her decorum.

Asami thanks him politely. She and Mako recently went their separate ways, and she enjoys the company. Though many young women would balk or blush profusely if an older, admittedly attractive man sat down across from them, she's grown up surrounded by older gentlemen. Her father, his friends, his workers.

Asami asks him what it's like, the Northern Water Tribe, and he discusses the superficial things. Anything of emotion? He quiets, not that he's particularly loud. Just eloquent. And she can appreciate his silence. There are things she doesn't want to discuss as well, and they respect that.

This isn't a fairytale. She can't mull around and daydream about being swept off of her feet. She has to fend for herself. It's the only way to preserve what she has left. She's not a lovesick princess, and he's no prince from a fabled land of rainbows and dragons.

Perhaps she's wounded, just a bit, but she'll stitch herself up for the greater good. Even if it still bruises her.

He'll soon depart. The city's growing too tumultuous. He needs to be with his family—his mother and brother.

Asami won't cry when he departs. At least he has enough honesty to tell her.

She never cries when they relocate to his bedroom. She refuses to cry before a stranger.

* * *

When they join, it's never a thing of happiness. Noatak hardly uses his own apartment anymore. It reeks of staleness, like something before the onset of decay. They don't say anything. As if, by intuition, she understands that this must remain a secret. That one word might unravel everything. Though it's never just one sparse word that ruins a man—is it?

He drifts into sleep, but not until her heart slows down enough to indicate that she's asleep. Pulsing, racing under her skin, and it's as if he feels her blood on his hands already. If only she'd listened. Noatak's chest begins to ache as he can hear her heartbeat in his mind.

Stressed. Privileged, yet so lonely. Too trusting. It makes her lose everything.

In the end, she'll believe in justice to correct things, the same justice that allows the poor to be jailed and for the cruel to be pardoned. It's never hurt her before, the natural order of things, but it soon will. Asami Sato is stuck on both thorny sides; bloodied wherever she turns.

On his palm, Noatak smooths her curls underneath his thumb. A short reprieve. That's it. That's why he seeks comfort in the arms of someone who will only condemn him.

He's not the man who sullied her life tonight. The one who destroyed her family. She's not the woman strewn into the middle, always doing right by others. Even when they discard her.

She shakes her head when he tries to pry—in those rare moments of curiosity—about the Avatar's new beau. She won't vilify them at any costs, and it infuriates Noatak to no end. Just as it confuses him when she's so gentle.

Asami Sato will cup his chin in her hands. They're always soft, though that won't last. She smells briskly of lotion and sweat. "Whatever you've done, it doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is what you've become."

He's too serious, she no doubt thinks. Unsmiling. She misinterprets this as sadness, though it is a sad predicament indeed. But he laughs then. Harshly. They could've crossed paths with Noatak being an honest man while she's the pampered, considerate daughter of a brilliant inventor. Competent and loyal, unwavering, they could've been companions without the secreted tears and hushed confessions. Without lies masking the hurt. What they'll never announce because of pride. Preservation.

She'll be in the battlefield, blazing like a lost star, like a light eclipsed in jealous shadows. He'll be above, out of reach and cold.

* * *

He holds her in his hands with such tenderness, and Asami has to blink back the wetness. He's the first person who doesn't lead her around. The terms and expectations of their meetings are blunt. They are only expressive when they're alone together.

She's not sure if she feels safe again, since this is a fleeting thing. But it's something they both need, and she thanks him every night for being here when she needs the release.

He doesn't reply.


End file.
